


A Wedding on the Water

by stele3



Series: The Tether Series [11]
Category: Black Sails
Genre: Autistic Character, F/F, Gen, Judaism, M/M, Religion, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-20
Updated: 2020-08-20
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:06:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26006164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stele3/pseuds/stele3
Summary: When Maria says that she wants to be married before her god, Rebekah accepts James as their only suitable officiant.“Yes,” he says, when asked. “Of course. But wouldn’t you want Thomas to do it?”Rebekah frowns and shakes her head. “No. Thomas will give me away.”This, she understands, is a Christian tradition: fathers own their daughters until such a time as the daughter are married to a man. Rebekah has no father left on this Earth, but Thomas is her family in a way no other man will ever be.So she claims Thomas as hers, and Maria claims John. This does not bother Rebekah, though she claims John in other ways.“Hey,” John says, affronted. “I’m a captain. I was a captain more recently than him. Not that I want to officiate, by any means.”“No, of course not,” Rebekah says. “You’re going to recite the sheva b'rachot.”-o-This story marks the end of the Tether Series.The deepest thanks to eufry for the sensitivity read. As always, I am a white, abled-bodied, Christian person writing a story that includes non-white, disabled, and/or Jewish characters. If I have fucked up in any way, please let me know.
Relationships: Captain Flint | James McGraw/Thomas Hamilton/John Silver, Madi/John Silver, OFC/OFC
Series: The Tether Series [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/924627
Comments: 30
Kudos: 84





	A Wedding on the Water

### ~Philadelphia, April 1724

Rebekah has long been of the opinion that most people are no use to her or anyone else.

This has not changed in the presence of Thomas or many others who think themselves _useful_ to the world. She might love them, but not for their usefulness. James is an exception. She accepts James as useful to her for his fierce love and fiercer violence. She could trust James to protect Maria. That marks the fullest extent of her approval: she trusts James to protect Maria in her absence.

She has no boundaries for Maria, save one.

So when Maria says that she wants to be married before her G-d in her way, Rebekah accepts James as their only suitable officiant.

“Yes,” he says, when asked. “Of course. But wouldn’t you want Thomas to do it?”

Rebekah frowns and shakes her head. “No. Thomas will give me away.”

This, she understands, is a Christian tradition: fathers own their daughters until such a time as the daughter are married to a man. Rebekah has no father left on this Earth, but Thomas is her family in a way no other man will ever be.

So she claims Thomas as hers, and Maria claims John. This does not bother Rebekah, though she claims John in other ways.

“Hey,” John says, affronted. “ _I’m_ a captain. I was a captain more recently than him. Not that I want to officiate, by any means.”

“No, of course not,” Rebekah says. “You’re going to recite the _sheva b'rachot_.”

John’s eyes widen. “Oh. I don’t suppose—”

“I will write them down for you,” she tells him. It is hard to know what he remembers, and Maria has told her to expect nothing, but Rebekah feels confident that between the two of them, they will fumble their way to a blessing that feels adequate. If not, she will have to lie to the _kal_ and pretend that she and John are marrying so as to learn the words. She would prefer not to lie, but she will do it if necessary.

She claims John in these ways: between the two of them, they remember enough to form something in their home, an invisible thing that sits with them all and holds within it all the names they both can remember. Their people.

The others become involved in different ways. Madi Scott and Erik of no last name will be there to witness and to help; Rebekah would kill for them both and so she calls them her own. She has nothing else to offer them but the promise of her violence, but Madi at least has verbally accepted it as sufficient. They speak often in the afternoons, either in the front parlor or out on the porch if it is warm enough. Sometimes Thomas joins them but not so often that his presence feels intrusive; he understands silently, in the way that makes her love him more, that the speaking is something holy to her, not simply an exercise of the mind. She does not know if Madi will ever think of herself as one of Rebekah and John’s people, but she has promised to let Rebekah teach their children, and that is enough. The _kal_ has no rabbi at the moment, so there is much disagreement on the liturgy; it seems every time they meet in the basement of a small house on Sterling Avenue, they spend half the time eating and the other half arguing, though they might do that with a rabbi present, too.

They will have children, maybe. Probably. Rebekah tries not to ask too often, but she knows that they have spoken of it because John no longer snaps at her when she raises the subject. The only person more excited than Rebekah is James. When he heard it mentioned the first time, he grew very silent and Thomas told Rebekah with his hands that silence hid a wealth of stilled words and emotion. He said that Rebekah might have to fight James to hold the baby when (if) it comes, and Rebekah told him that James was welcome so long as she got her turn once it was older. Then she will introduce it to the names of her people, and John’s.

Their wedding plans necessitate a few things, most prominent of which is a boat. She does not quite understand why it makes a difference, nor why James becomes so irritable whenever she says ‘boat’ instead of ‘ship,’ but perhaps the boundary of water grants certain leniencies. All she knows is, James can perform the ceremony so long as he is captain of a boat. Or a ship. Christianity is confusing, but Rebekah is Jewish: she’s accustomed to intricate requirements and boundaries. She will follow these, too, for Maria, who will do the same for her.

They make their intentions known in the winter, as neither Maria nor Rebekah have any idea how long it will take to acquire a boat or ship, nor how much that will cost. As it happens, that is one of their easier tasks: John has made friends with a particular merchant who is not a pirate but is most assuredly pirate-affiliated and has many small watercraft that he uses to deliver goods to the pirate encampment across the bay. One, apparently, is large enough to suit their purposes: Rebekah has no idea why it does, or why a smaller ship would be insufficient. When they go out to look at the ship, standing on the shoreline, she has no strong feelings about it other than that it seems larger than what they need, but John and James are both adamant and Maria tells them many good things about the ship.

Afterwards, she privately confides that she doesn’t know why they picked that ship, either, but wanted to make them feel good. She is so much wiser than Rebekah about what other people need to hear.

The wedding becomes an activity for the entire house. Maria is sewing a new dress—or, actually, she has taken an old dress apart and is reshaping it. She makes one for Rebekah as well, staying up late into the nights to sew by candlelight. Rebekah wishes that she could bring Maria before the _kal_ : there should be many people helping her sew the dresses, and a party with many guests and rich food. They should both have their entire community gathered around them.

They do, in their own way. James surprises them all by sitting with Maria and helping her stitch. He has taken to wearing small round glasses whenever he reads, and he wears them now as he draws needle and thread.

“James McGraw Hamilton Flint,” John exclaims when he first takes in the sight, gathered as they are around the fire. It is still quite cold at night and the days mostly filled with rain, but whenever the sun does appear it blossoms hot on their faces with the promise of spring. “I never knew you worked as a seamstress! What other talents do you hide from us?”

James pins him with a sharp glare from over the tops of his new spectacles. “Did you never once sew up a torn sail? What am I asking that for, of course you didn’t—that would require the retention of a skillset both useful and practical.”

“Are all useful skillsets not also practical?” John counters, taking a seat beside Rebekah, who has abjectly refused to ever learn sewing. She cannot even bear to watch it be done—a needle passing in and out, in and out, maddening in the monotony. She doesn’t know how Maria enjoys the task. “Is a skill that finds application in the concrete world, instead of the theoretical, not—by definition—of _use_? Why delineate between the two?”

“ _Practicus,_ ” James retorts, continuing with his in and out, “from the Greek _praktikos_ , action learned by and carried out through the method of repetition.”

“Ah.” John frowns briefly into the middle distance, then says, “No, no thank you,” and takes a sip of tea. For once, Rebekah agrees with him wholeheartedly. James rolls his eyes but makes no further commentary on the subject.

So they do not have a _kal_ to surround them, and nor can Rebekah stand up in front of Maria’s church. Not that she would do so, even if they did not object to blessing two women together. That is the only thing, the only, that she would never give up for Maria…that is why they have not joined their hands in marriage before this: she feared that Maria would ask her to convert, as so many have done in order to avoid the noose or the flames. Rebekah has carried the names of her people with her this far, she will not put them in the ground now.

Instead they have this: a boat and two captains. John is no rabbi but Rebekah is perfectly willing to borrow this loophole from the Christians. He does seem to take the position seriously, even coming to the _kal_ with her and Madi several times. It is not much, ten people packed into a small, cold basement. They don’t even have a Torah, though there is talk of procuring one, and the only _midrash_ is a corner where the grandmother of the Aaron family sits and tells the stories of their people to two wriggling children of a different family. A few made protest when Madi first attended, and Rebekah grimly observed that she was right to warn that they would never accept her as a convert; but Madi seemed to take no offense and comported herself with such calm dignity that the objections fell apart.

According to James, Madi was born a princess. When he first told her so, Rebekah did not quite believe it. But watching her stand before the _kal_ , she recognizes the way that Madi stands straighter in the face of those who would reject her right to exist wheresoever she pleases: eyes lidded, gathering a silent power. No one wants to insult that unspoken dominion more than they already have.

So she has been allowed to stay, if not part of the _kal_ then part in all of the ways that matter.

The first time he accompanies them, John only stays a few minutes. They find him later, pacing through the streets surrounding the house as if on watch; neither Madi nor Rebekah comment on it and they return home in peace. Now, he still does not join either the _midrash_ or the _kal_ , but sits on the basement stairs, watching them all. Even on her best days, Rebekah does not know how to read someone’s thoughts on their expression, so she cannot hope to guess what John fucking Silver is thinking as he watches them speak with one another and sing the prayers that they remember. Mostly he observes the children and _nonna_ in the corner.

The basement smells of earth and mildew. Madi says, “But if you are in a desert and have only the flesh of a pig to eat, should you not? Does _pikuach nefesh_ not supersede all other liturgy? If so, then at what step in the journey of starvation does it do so? Must one be weak with hunger? Does Adonai require that you first suffer before you break leavened bread on the Sabbath?”

 _That_ , predictably, sets off two hours of passionate debate. It is good that they are in a basement: Madi never raises her voice, merely sits and asks the sort of questions that she must instinctively know will most agitate the _kal_. Periodically the _nonna_ in the corner will lift her cane and rap it on the back of her chair to bring down the noise level, but then Madi will ask about lentils again and off they will go. From his place on the stairs, John catches Rebekah’s eye and they both smile.

“You ask a great deal about food,” he comments that night as the three of them walk back to their home.

“Food is important,” Madi replies. “When we come into the world we first know our own people, our own kin, by the food they share with us.”

She walks with her arm through his elbow, rather daring for the open streets where Rebekah’s _tichel_ sometimes draws hostile eyes. Not two years ago, Rebekah and John nearly came to blows over putting _la menora_ on their own fucking mantle; but Rebekah cannot find it in her heart to resent Madi for this, not when she fully intends to _midrash_ the living shit out of their hypothetical future children. “If they did not want me to ask about food,” Madi continues, “then they should not have spent so much time making rules about it.”

“Oh, I’m fairly certain they want you to ask questions about food.” John paused a moment to adjust his stump. James had made a new one for him recently and he winces a great deal less. The stump, when revealed, looks similar to the crutch that James fashioned for Erik; Rebekah doesn’t know if he did that on purpose but it certainly strengthens the appearance of a familial deformity.

Rebekah is not very good at reading the thoughts of others but she tries, for a moment, to imagine how they look to the outside world. She knows that Thomas told Mrs. Greenup, their former landlady, that James and Maria are married; were he any other man, Rebekah would hate him for this, but James is wholly unromantic towards Maria in any way. She knows that he has loved women before—including Madi, if Thomas is to be believed—but he is so wholly and squarely paternal in his behavior towards Maria that Rebekah does not begrudge him the appearance of husbandry.

John, they decided when he first arrived, would pretend to be Maria’s brother…but he has long since dropped the Spanish accent, so she is not sure what pretense he makes these days, if any. Erik does not look much like him save for their limps and matching correctives, but with Madi here twining her arm through his, the ton might think her his slave mistress and Erik their offspring.

Rebekah cannot begin to imagine what anyone thinks about her. If she did try, she would likely keep a knife in both hands at all times, and wave them at every person she met on the street.

John says, “There’s no justification for it, any of it, if that’s what you’re looking for. The laws of _kashrut_ simply exist and if ever Adonai has deigned to explain their importance or even the reason for their existence in the first place, someone forgot to write it down. And given the weighty stone affixed to memory by our people, I doubt very much that any word of Adonai was simply _forgotten_.”

Madi furrows her brow. “Among my mother’s people, there are many foods that women avoid in pregnancy and childbirth, for the health of the mother and the child. I have wondered if this is not the purpose of the _kashrut_ , or something similar enough.”

“Ah, but Adonai created all of the world,” John says, “and He made the _kashrut_ only for Jews. If it is to keep _us_ healthy, then why not require it of everyone? Just because we are his chosen people doesn’t mean he isn’t the Father of all people in the world.”

Madi considers this, then asks, “Why do you never speak to the _kal_? That sounds very much like something they would enjoy discussing.”

“Oh, don’t I know it. No, no, I have swayed enough crews to my side and I fear I grow weary of the sort of crowns they would cast at me.”

Rebekah and Madi do not look at one another, but Rebekah _knows_ what Madi is thinking: _Weary, or afraid of your own power?_ She thinks that, given time, she and Madi will find their own language, different from but similar to the one she shares with Thomas.

Rebekah repeats back, “When we come into the world the first way we know our own people, our own kin, is by the food they share with us.”

“Is it that simple?”

“Ask the _kal_ ,” John suggests. “I’m sure someone will have a counterargument.”

Madi’s eyes gleam.

There are days, though, when one or both of them cannot speak at their customary time in the afternoon, Rebekah because of the tightness that lashes around her body and Madi because she spent the previous night screaming. After those nights the only person she wants near her is James. They speak quietly of their wars, the bloody things they have carved from the world and themselves for the sake of their beliefs. They belong to one another this way: they have both survived themselves.

Sometimes James sleeps in Madi’s bed, though Rebekah does not think they have sex. On those nights, she will hear John’s thumping gait travel down the hall to the room where James and Thomas usually sleep; by unspoken rule, no one sleeps alone in their house save for Erik, who has long since mastered his discomfort with the inversion that surrounds him but appears perfectly content with his solitary bed in the sunroom. James has even built him a door with a lock on the inside, and Maria sewed him fine, thick curtains.

They have looked at the possibility of freeing him, Thomas most diligently. The process of manumission is no small undertaking and is complicated by the illegitimacy of his purchase. Erik’s father/owner perished in the disease and Thomas’ friend Mr. Sauer did draw them up a falsified writ of sale, but no one is eager to test its believability with so strenuous an examination as the courts make.

Add to that, word has reached Thomas that the colonial authority is preparing to pass legislation that sends him into a frenzy of letter-writing and culminates in a shouting argument over the dinner table. Rebekah spends most of the argument with her hands pressed over her ears but she quite clearly hears James yell, “It isn’t your _choice_ , Thomas, so stop acting like it is!”

“How fucking dare you,” Thomas hisses. “I’m not! I’m simply trying to place the facts before him—”

“Highly biased facts!”

“By God, one might almost think you _want_ to keep owning him!”

At that James bolts to his feet, his eyes wild with rage, and Rebekah stands up, too, planting herself between them with her hands still over her ears.

It is Madi who speaks next, quietly enough that Rebekah can’t hear her words. Thomas and James waver, then sit, both of their expressions writhing with guilt already. Rebekah cautiously lowers her hands in time to hear Madi say, “Shouting will not assuage the guilt you both feel for your ownership of Erik. Nothing will. You must live with that, as he must live with the idea that you own him. Do us both the courtesy of not behaving as if one is so much more painful than the other, for if either Erik or myself took to shouting that way, then no distance from our neighbors and no amount of money could save us for long. Do you think we have so much less rage than you? Do you think that we, too, do not wish to lash out and make others feel our pain? If we can comport ourselves calmly for this discussion the least—the _very least_ —that the both of you can do is the same.”

Silence falls over the room. Rebekah twitches a few times with the impulse to flee but regains her seat. It is her, Thomas, James, Madi, and Erik, and the last has yet to even speak on the subject of his own manumission. Foolish to have broached this subject without the temperance of John or Marielena here: they are the pragmatists, even more so than Rebekah.

Madi takes a deep breath and stands. “Thomas, apologize to James.”

Thomas swallows. “I am…so unspeakably sorry, my…James, I am so sorry.”

“Both of you, apologize to Rebekah for shouting.”

James murmurs an apology, while Thomas signs his.

“Good.” She sits and turns to Erik, who is nervously watching James. “For my part, I confess that the proposed law concerns me. It will be even more difficult for me to move freely about the city, and I doubt whether the document given to me by the governor of Nassau will provide much protection, as he is no longer the governor of the Bahamas. If I was taken by someone who intended to sell me, I would have little legal recourse by which to free myself, while James or Thomas would find it far easier to file suit in an effort to reclaim their lost…property.”

Thomas fidgets in his chair but says nothing. James’ face twitches several times.

Erik collects himself, glancing around the table. “I think,” he says slowly, “that if I am to continue as a…I don’t know the English word, a _verbinding_ for the freeman camp, I must draw as little attention to myself as possible. But if I—sir, if I were caught, I would be punished, but as my owner, so would you. I believe that is what the law says?”

“I believe you’re correct,” James replies after a moment.

“Well then, it seems right to ask you if you’re willing to take the risk? If we are to continue as we are, I mean.”

Thomas puts his head in his hands; but he says nothing. James strokes his own beard. “I am more than willing, Erik, whatever you choose to do. I will stand by you, retrieve you from bondage if need be, or release you from your bondage to me. I hope you trust me enough to know that I would do anything in my power to keep you safe, but…I recognize that you may not want that protection more than the reality of your own freedom.”

They all sit for some time in silence. Rebekah raps her knuckles on the table to get Thomas’ attention then makes a circle with her fingers. His face stays unhappy but he makes the circle back and takes a long, slow breath.

“I think I shall stay as we have been,” Erik says eventually, “if only because it has worked for us thus far. It would be easier for me to travel if people believe that I am doing work for you, sir, than if I were a freeman…that is how your father did what he did, is it not?”

Madi nods. Rebekah wonders, but does not ask, if Madi could bring herself to make that same choice. Certainly, she presents the appearance of bondage, walking behind James and Thomas in the street as befits a slave, but it’s quite a different thing to legally—even on a falsified document—belong to another human being. Rebekah thinks of her own ancestors, who survived so long in chains. The story they tell most is when they freed themselves, but there must have been so many stories between, whole generations who were born and died in bondage. Their lives, too, had meaning. Perhaps they, too, struggled towards freedom, and if they had not then maybe the miracle that freed their descendants would not have happened.

“Tikkun olam,” she says out loud.

“Beg pardon?” Erik inquires.

Rebekah fixes her eyes on the plate of biscuits they’d been enjoying before the conversation grew so tense. She rocks a little in her seat. “Adonai made the world good, not perfect. It’s up to all of us to do the same. None of us will see the end of slavery, but maybe your children will, or your children’s children, and even then, their world will harbor evils that we cannot imagine. We cannot make it perfect, but we have a responsibility to do what we can.”

She turns her face in Madi’s direction, not quite able to meet her eye. Madi—Madi is already looking at the biscuit dish. Oh, yes, they will understand one another quite well. Madi nods.

“If that is your choice,” James says, then waits for Erik’s nod. “Then so be it.”

-o-

Before dawn on a Thursday in late April, Rebekah wakes to the soft brush of Maria’s fingers on her arm. They lie together for some time afterwards, until the soft brush turns into the slightest pinch of nails. “I know you are awake,” Maria tells her. “You English will lie abed all day.”

“I am not English,” Rebekah reminds her. This is a familiar refrain between them. Rebekah does not entirely remember from whence her dark hair and grey eyes came, but she does not think her mother and father were English by birth.

“You come from England, you are English,” Maria says then shrieks when Rebekah bites her shoulder.

They roll about a little. Maria is trying to wrestle and Rebekah is making sure that neither of them get actually hurt. Eventually they stop, with Rebekah pinning Maria’s wrists at her sides and resting her chin on Maria’s sternum. Maria tries to knee her in the side but Rebekah simply drapes her weight across Maria’s legs and lies there, eyes closed, smiling.

A hand wriggles free from her grip and Rebekah lets it go. A moment later, Maria’s fingertip brushes over one closed eyelid, then another. “It has been so long since I thought of the future,” Maria tells her. “What is the point? It will come or it will not. If I did not make plans then I would not be angry when they failed to happen. But today…”

She trails off, perhaps not able to find the words or afraid of voicing them. Rebekah kisses her sternum through her nightshirt then lays her head on Maria’s breast, listening to her heartbeat.

They dress slowly, taking their time with the new clothing. Maria has made sure that no rough fabrics touch Rebekah’s throat or wrists and that she has plenty of room around her armpits. The skirt does not impede her feet; she runs back and forth across their room a few times, relishing the way she can still move quickly in the full skirt.

Maria puts her hands on her hips as she watches. “ _Please_ do not fight anyone in your wedding dress,” she says. “At least, not unless you have to. I did sew pockets in the sides, and there’s a slit on the inside lining where you can hide your knife.”

The pocket is perfectly sized. If Rebekah were not marrying her already, she would ask now.

They descend the stairs. Thomas, Erik, Madi, and James wait for them in candlelight. The windows glow faintly with the gray light of morning as they gather, making appreciative noises about the dresses. James kisses Maria’s hand and for some reason this makes them both weep a little; Rebekah does not understand why but she is grateful for James being there, so she does not feel obligated to take part. If they were alone she would ask Maria why she is crying, but if James is present then she feels comfortable in the knowledge that he will do a better job of handling anything that Maria needs.

Instead she looks at Thomas, who smiles and bows to her. Rebekah rolls her eyes. “Where is John?” she asks.

“Still dressing, I believe. He was up before us, too. I’m half-expecting him to come downstairs in a full gown, as well, for else I cannot imagine what could be keeping him so long.”

Rebekah rolls her eyes again and inspects the dining table, where they have laid out part of the wedding meal already, in defiance of rats. There will be no one to defend the table until late in the afternoon, but John has assured her that The Cat Whom He Calls Brutus and Rebekah Does Not Call Brutus will defend their home adequately in their absence. Already the cat has born children, which has made her twice as bloodthirsty, which Rebekah respects. She does not know how she will react if and when John and Madi have children, but she thinks she might behave in a similar fashion. Already, she thinks of Erik and has to—has t—

No. Today is her wedding day. She will not spill blood today unless someone else strikes first. At least her wedding dress is suited to the task, should the need arise.

They eat a little breakfast. It is bland, as James prepared it and James is actually English. He made…some kind of oatmeal porridge that Thomas and Rebekah eat without comment; it is similar to what they ate in Bethlem as part of their treatment for deviant sexuality. Maria also eats without comment but somehow very _loudly_. Erik discreetly adds something from his pockets to both his bowl and Madi’s. James eats while watching Maria through narrow eyes; no one speaks.

James and Erik leave them shortly, traveling out into the dark streets with a lantern. There are candles for the rest of them. “Is this Christian?” Rebekah asks.

“No,” Thomas answers while Maria frowns, clearly uncertain. “I suppose there are traditions around Christmastide, but I believe that is more of the Papist persuasion, so I cannot speak to that…”

“Yes,” Maria answers. “But not weddings. Not that I can think of.”

There are four candles for them to carry with them through the dark. Rebekah thinks that she likes this very much, though it be neither Jewish nor any form of Christian. It is _theirs_.

John has still not joined them. She is just about to go upstairs when Madi catches Thomas’ gaze, widens her eyes to an almost comical size, and jerks her chin over his shoulder.

Both Thomas and Rebekah turn. John has come downstairs with uncommon quietness; James put fur on the bottom of both the peg leg and the crutch, to make his movements quieter. He has trimmed his beard and put back his hair in a bun at the nape of his neck, while on the crown of his head is a _kippah_. He wears clean breeches that, while not fine, are certainly better than anything he has bothered to put on before, and a white linen shirt without a single stain, the ties of which he is currently preoccupied with pulling shut. His nails are clean and cut and his skin is freshly scrubbed. He looks exactly as he should for this day, and though he is no rabbi, Rebekah thinks that he will do well enough.

“Every name of god,” Thomas exclaims. “Can _I_ convert?”

Rebekah has long been of the opinion that Thomas thinks far more with his cock than he should; he even admired a certain guard in Bedlam, for fuck’s sake. But in the case of John, she will allow the foolishness of his admiration to continue because it makes John blush, as he does right now.

He also scowls, and Thomas hastens over to loom in his personal space and do up the laces of his shirt in a way that makes it painfully clear how much he would prefer to untie them. Rebekah clicks her tongue at him and signs, _Do not make us late_.

 _I would never_ , Thomas replies with the air of a man who absolutely would.

They leave their house and walk down to the harbor carrying their candles. In the early hours of the day, few people move about on the streets, but Maria and Rebekah still wear thick coats over their dresses. Neither of them wish to feign being the bride of anyone but each other; they have done so many times, but through unspoken agreement they do not do so today. John, to her surprise, keeps on his _kippah_. It is difficult to see against his black hair, but it sits there in silence, visible to her.

James waits for them by the docks with a smaller boat—though when she calls it thus, he corrects, “A longboat.”

“How small does a boat need to be before it is called a boat?” Rebekah asks.

James puts his fists on his hips. “Smaller than this.”

The _longboat_ is rowed by a man who stinks of alcohol but says little and rows hard. He takes them out to the _sloop_ , which sits at anchor waiting for them. Its sails are as white as Maria’s dress. Rebekah’s is a deep blue with fine yellow stitches along the side; she wears James’ thick belt around her middle and a _tichel_ over her hair. She thinks, maybe, that she should be wearing something more on her head, but that would certainly draw unwanted attention and be impossible to hide in the streets.

John, James, and Madi guide the sloop out into the center of the bay under the avid gaze of Erik, who is obviously thrilled to be ‘at sea’ with Long John Silver and Captain Flint, even if they’ve only gone far enough away from land to avoid any unwanted attention. It is a quiet day, cold but sunny, and so they enjoy the waves. Rebekah stands in silence with Maria’s hand in hers, watching the sun shine on the fog of their breath and turn it into fire.

At last Thomas comes to take Rebekah’s arm and John takes Maria’s as they move to the center of the boat. The boat is fairly narrow, only a few feet wide. James awaits them with a small black book in hand and a solemn air. He smiles as they approach.

“Dearly beloved,” James says, “We are gathered today in the sight of God and in the face of this congregation, such as it is, to join together this woman and this woman in holy matrimony.”

It goes on this way in the of Christian people, who have no difficulties recalling _their_ traditions. At least it is a short ceremony. James turns to the right. “Who giveth this woman to be wed?”

“I do,” John chokes, pressing his hand into Maria’s arm. She squeezes him back.

James turns to the left. “Who giveth this woman to be wed?”

“I do,” Thomas answers. He does not choke. Rebekah loves him better for that. If he faltered, then so would she.

“Is there a witness to this event?” James asks, lifting his eyebrows towards the back of the sloop. The stern, or whatever it is called.

“We are,” Madi Scott confirms for herself and for Erik, seated next to her.

“Do you so promise to do whatever you can to protect and uphold this marriage?”

“We do.”

“If any can show why these two should not be bound in holy matrimony, speak now or forever hold your peace.” He pauses the barest second; for what, Rebekah cannot guess. If anyone did speak up, she would kill them, even if Poseidon himself rose out of the waters.

“Marielena, will you have this woman to be your wife, to live together with her in the covenant of marriage? Will you love her, comfort her, honor and keep her, in sickness and in health, and, forsaking all others, be faithful unto her as long as ye both shall live?

“I will,” Marielena says.

“Rebekah, will—”

“Yes.”

James lifts his eyebrows but accepts this as sufficient answer, for which Rebekah is grateful; she does not think she could sit here and look into his eyes, or Maria’s, for the entirety of her vows. Apparently, this concludes the Christian ceremony because he puts away the little black book. A small satchel rests near John’s foot; from it he draws a wine glass and the _tallit_ , which he unfolds and hands to James and Thomas. They hold it above Rebekah and Marielena, who turn to face the stern of the boat.

“Madi,” John calls. She moves to assist him, taking the bottle of wine from his hands. He is so much steadier on a boat than dry land; he barely even limps. He clears his throat loudly and darts a glance at Rebekah. “Do not get angry at me if I mispronounce some of the words.”

“I will not,” Rebekah promises. She barely remembers them herself. She did wind up asking the _kal_ , none of whom agreed on the wording.

John clears his throat again before presenting the glass to Madi, who fills it with wine so dark it looks purple. “Barukh atah Adonai Eloheinu melekh ha‑olam—”

John sings. His voice is not beautiful like a minstrel, like the sounds that James makes with his guitar, but it is beautiful in his own way. They drink from the wine glass when he holds it out to them. Were this a true _huppah_ , Rebekah thinks that one of them might be put in a chair and carried about, but obviously that isn’t possible on a boat and anyway, all she has to go on was a scant memory of someone—a sister? A cousin?—who had gotten dropped by the crowd.

They have no ring. This is apparently a part of Christian ceremonies as well, but they offer no substitutions for a ring, whereas now Rebekah can reach into the pocket of her dress and take out a Spanish piece of eight. James guffaws when he sees it, glaring at John for some reason, but does not prevent her from pressing it into Maria’s hand.

John muddles through the _sheva b'rachot_ and refills the glass with the air of someone who needs one to himself. He waits until they have drained the second glass then waves a hand at his satchel. “Madi, could you please get the—yes, thank you.” He takes the cloth from her and wraps it tightly around the empty wineglass before handing it to Rebekah.

“Oh no, must you?” Thomas interjects.

Rebekah ignores him and places the wrapped glass on the deck before bringing her heel down to break it, the crunch muffled by fabric. Thomas sighs. John waits the appropriate length of time then shouts, “Mabrouk! Now, er, unless I’m very mistaken this is the part where you wander off to fuck, but I’d like to propose that we all drink instead.”

Trust him to remember the _Yichud_ if nothing else, and then only in the crudest way possible. Madi and Maria pass out more cups, though they are heavy pottery instead of the fine glass that Thomas still visibly mourns. Maria and Rebekah share a cup, as is fitting. They are of one home now, and Rebekah thinks of Ruth and Naomi. _Whither you goest, I will go_.

She thinks, to herself, _But your god will not be my god._

“Well, come on then,” Thomas exclaims once they’ve all had a few sips, enough to loosen his tongue. “I don’t know the way of your tribe, my dear, but we Christians seal the matter with a kiss!”

It is instinct to refuse. They have all spent so long putting walls around their love. In the long months of their stay with the Aaron’s, during John’s illness, they had done worst than that; it had been painfully similar to Bedlam, when she and Thomas had spent so long slipping each other morsels of their own humanity via glances and hand signs, but Maria has none of Thomas’ proficiency with language. She could learn, perhaps, but for some reason neither Rebekah nor Thomas has ever tried.

There are no walls, here, far out on the ocean. Perhaps this is why Christians are willing to make such allowances to sea captains.

She looks at Maria, who is already looking at her. Rebekah kisses her. The force of her own love overwhelms her and she turns away, punching at the air to release the tension. So many times, she has done this: she can vaguely remember her own family cringing from her, slapping her hands in admonishment every time she made a fist or waggled them in the air. Even now, the learned shame threatens.

But when she looks back, Maria is smiling, her eyes filled with tears.

They drink wine and eat the dish that John produces from his pack. Rebekah can tell that he cooked it himself: biscuits that smell strongly of tangy cheese that, when split open, reveal steaming vegetables. They are quite different the scones that Thomas enjoys with his tea. They are not quite like anything. A wise woman once said, _Food is important_ , and Rebekah thinks that she could taste food made by all of them, their hands, their souls, their past and their present and—she prays to a god she is not certain exists—their future. James delights in telling them all that John used to be a terrible cook, but Rebekah likes the sauce, even if she cannot quite tell which spices he used. She trusts that he kept it _kashrut_.

Eventually they finish passing around the communal dish of food. Rebekah does not remember the provenance of this ritual, either, but she likes it even more. Once, she would have stabbed John if he so much as reached a hand towards Maria, such was her terror of his disease; but she trusts him, now. She trusts them all.

They finish their meal and wine. Throughout, Erik peppers James, Madi, and John with questions about the ship, the sea, and their time sailing together. James and Madi indulge him to a limited extent, while John remains strangely quiet. Rebekah notices. Thomas does, too, and quirks his fingers at her.

 _I do not know_ , Rebekah answers.

John does not make them wait long. They are just putting away the cloth and the meal dish when he says, “Captain.”

James turns. He catches himself but it’s too late: his reaction shows the truth. He will always be John’s captain. “What?”

“Since we’re out here, I would like you to officiate a funeral.”

Oh. Of course. Rebekah looks at Marielena, who nods; if she approves then Rebekah will not be angry that John has found a way to make the day about himself. James is slower and asks, “A funeral for who?”

“Solomon Little,” John says.

There is a coffin, brought on board by John and Maria and hidden under a cloth. A small one, fit for a child. John looks to his captain, who only blinks once then straightens his back and says the words he knows. Rebekah murmurs a few words from scraps in her own memory. Those scraps have sustained her for years; she believes they will sustain her until she dies.

John has pages with him, written in Maria’s scrawl. It is a holy thing to teach someone how to read and Rebekah will always love John for this if nothing else: that he put a pen in Maria’s hand and gave her cause to use it. She was never a scholar who learned for the sake of knowing. She needed a reason.

For a long moment John crouches over the coffin with the pages in his hand—and then he puts them inside. His captain helps him nail the coffin shut and hoist it over the side; but it is Maria who stands beside John as they watch the little wooden box bob on the waves. It is Maria who puts her arms around him as she weeps. In this moment, Rebekah does not think he would allow anyone else that close. Of all of them, Maria knows him the best and maybe the least.

John stands at the rail for a long time, long after Madi and James have drifted back to different parts of the boat that need tending if they are to stay afloat. He stands there to watch the coffin of Solomon Little slowly sink below the surface of the water and only when it is gone does he turn away.

Rebekah turns away, too. Thomas is there waiting for her with a soft smile; Rebekah realizes she, too, has been weeping.

Thomas guides her to sit with Maria and Erik in the central part of the boat-ship. Rebekah does not know what it is called. She and Maria put their coats back on to hide their wedding dresses. John has rejoined his wife and his captain in sailing; they all call out to each other over the crash of waves. They have turned the ship back towards land but are sailing fast, probably faster than they need to.

Rebekah does not mind. The sun glitters on the surface of the water. John and James and Madi call to one another and their voices are joyous. Maria sits next to her—her wife, her wife, _her wife_. Rebekah has to close her eyes against the fierceness of her own love.

They slow as they near the shore. In the town they will need to move into the shapes that allow them to live without fear: James and Marielena, Thomas and Rebekah, Madi and Erik, and John walking alone. To the townspeople they will look like two Christian couples, an errant brother, and their slaves. Even the Jews will look at John and Rebekah and think them secretly married. How strange it is, that so many people would rather believe a lie than see true happiness.

She does not know how long such joy and love can last. But the waters that carry them now have seen them before. They are the same ones that bore she and Thomas to the plantation, that withstood the fierceness of James’ anger, that witnessed the long, aching years of separation between John and Madi. It is the same water of her wife’s tears. Her wife, her wife, her _wife_.

Those are the waters that now hold Solomon Little. Those waters know them better than they know themselves.

Those same waters carry them home.

Notes:

-I listened to “Gonna Be A Darkness” by Jakob Dylan and Gary Louis on repeat while I wrote this.

-Funny story: I started writing this series in 2018. I knew pretty early on that it would end with Rebekah and Marielena’s wedding, and as the series progressed the story outline shifted until that wedding landed in April of 1724. As it happened, over the period of time that I wrote the series, I got engaged and legally married. We made plans for a family wedding and that date landed in…April. All this was before COVID-19 happened, and naturally we have postponed the ceremony.

So it was a little weird to be writing this last installment that centered so much around a fictional wedding, when we weren’t able to get married IRL. Funnier, too, that they both wound up happening in April. The world is strange and full of coincidences.

-Rebekah has a varied definition of _midrash_. In Sephardic tradition, the _midrash_ refers to a secondary room in the synagogue for study of the liturgy; in Ashkenazim tradition, it refers more to the liturgical study itself. I felt that this sort of blurred understanding was appropriate to someone who has survived her kind of life.

-“Manumission” is the process of freeing a slave and was (purposefully) very difficult in the colonies. The proposed legislation regarding freemen referred to by Thomas is, “ _An Act for the better Regulation of Negroes_ ,” which did indeed pass in 1725 (a year after the end of this story). Pennsylvania had some relatively mild laws surrounding the treatment of slaves and some of the most draconian laws regulating the lives of free Africans and African-Americans. <http://slavenorth.com/pennsylvania.htm>

-Tikkun olam: <https://www.chabad.org/library/article_cdo/aid/3700275/jewish/What-Is-Tikkun-Olam.htm>

-I did a lot of research about the wedding ceremonies, so I hope they came out okay. Some of the information is deliberately muddled: the Jewish experience at the time was incredibly fractured and people would likely remember their own traditions piecemeal. For instance, in a Sephardic wedding ceremony there would not be a _Yichud_ and certainly the couple would not consummate their marriage at this time. Silver’s comment about the _Yichud_ is based on Ashkenazi tradition, which he likely encountered at some point in the course of his life.

-The biscuits that Silver makes for their wedding are boyikos.

-I am so inexpressibly grateful to everyone who has followed this series, but even more grateful to all of the sensitivity readers who gave their time and energy to making this journey better. I couldn’t have done it without any of you and I so deeply appreciate your input.


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